The Tyrant's Stolen Bride-Chapter 127: His House, His Rules

Lyra sprang off the bed and slammed the door with a force loud enough for Dante to hear.

She staggered back a few steps, screaming as she yanked at the nightgown, fury burning through her.

The storm of anger and disappointment broke, spilling into tears.

She dragged herself into the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the relentless stream of water wash over her.

Her hands braced against the wall.

She couldn’t understand what he saw in her.

She was just an ordinary woman, nothing like the actresses or famous models who wore makeup daily and dressed in expensive designer clothes.

She didn’t even smell of sweet perfume. The sharp scent of medicine clung to her skin instead.

He possessed unimaginable wealth and power. He could have chosen countless other women. Surely, many of them wanted him.

The strength drained from her legs, and she slumped, letting her body sink and curl up on the floor.

She wanted to go home... back into her husband’s arms.

And her grandmother. The news would have reached her. With her weak heart, how could she endure it?

Dominic... he would be crying his heart out if he found out they had disappeared without a trace. Who would comfort him at a time like this?

Lyra remained there, shuddering faintly beneath the falling water, eyes shut tight.

Unaware that Dante stood just outside the bathroom door, his hand clenched into a fist, knuckles bleached white as thick veins bulged along his forehead.

After she slammed the door, he heard her scream—an outburst that made him turn back, fear flickering that she might hurt herself.

He grabbed the doorknob, and shook it. Of course, it was locked. He went into his own room and used the connecting door to enter hers.

He heard every curse she poured out in his name. He felt the urge to knock and warn her, but he held back. It would only fuel the fire.

He waited there, his body pressed against the wall.

After standing for a long while, he stepped back and slumped onto the bed to wait.

She was the only one who could make he endure like this—a patience he had never known he possessed.

He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, letting a thick stream of smoke curl into the air.

Nearly an hour passed with Lyra still in the bathroom, and Dante began to lose his patience. The thought of barging in crossed his mind.

As he moved toward the door, preparing to kick it open, it suddenly swung wide.

Lyra was shocked. She stepped back and slammed the door shut again.

Fear clawed at her. She was only wearing a towel, and the thought of Dante doing anything to her in that state terrified her.

She had already locked the door, yet he had still managed to get inside. Unforgivable.

"You’d better come out," Dante said, knocking hard on the door.

"Get out!" she shouted.

"Open the door—if not, you will regret it," Dante warned, ready to kick it open.

"How am I supposed to get out if you’re here? Out—now!" she snapped.

"Lyra." He called her name, his voice edged with warning.

"I said... out! Out! Out!" She screamed until her throat burned, the sound tearing through the room.

Dante finally stopped banging on the door, his jaw tight.

"Fifteen minutes. If you’re not downstairs in the dining room by then, you know the consequences."

Lyra did not reply. She waited until she was certain there was no one outside the door before she finally dared to open it.

She peeked through the narrow crack in the door, and relief washed over her—Dante was truly gone.

She stepped slowly to the bed and sat down. She sighed, allowing herself a brief moment to breathe.

Then a knock came at the door.

"Madam, sir has asked me to get you ready. May I come in?" the young maid asked politely.

Lyra’s ears twitched. She didn’t want anyone on Dante’s side near her.

"Just leave. I can get ready on my own," she said, raising her voice toward the door.

"But I have to—"

"Just leave," Lyra cut her off.

"Please... let me come in." The maid knocked on the door.

Her insistence made Lyra’s brows knit together, irritation simmering beneath the surface.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she hurriedly dressed.

When she opened the door, her hair was still damp and uncombed, deliberately showing her protest. Her clothes were also wet from her hair.

The maid frowned. She immediately grabbed Lyra’s arm and dragged her back into the room. The force making Lyra wince in pain.

Lyra yanked her arm free, her expression tight with displeasure.

The maid opened the wardrobe and took out a fresh set of clothes. She helped remove the wet clothes and carefully dressed her in the new outfit.

Then she pointed to the chair in front of the mirror.

"Sit there. I’ll dry your hair."

"No need. Just leave my hair like this," Lyra refused stubbornly.

"No, no, no." The maid shook her head.

"Sir will be furious. I’ll be dead. Please... have mercy on me, madam," she pleaded desperately, clutching at her words as though her life truly depended on it.

Lyra let out a huff and sank into the seat reluctantly.

The maid began to dry her hair, her movements gentle, practiced, and careful.

Then, she styled Lyra’s hair, fastening it with delicate pins.

Lyra frowned. She didn’t want to look beautiful, especially when facing Dante.

The maid placed the final pin, then stepped back with a small, satisfied smile.

"All set, madam," she said softly.

Lyra scowled, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

Seeing her like that, worry crept across the maid’s face.

She was afraid Dante might misunderstand and think she had done something wrong to her madam.

Then, as Lyra raised her hand toward the pins, about to undo them one by one, the maid dropped to her knees immediately.

"Madam, please..." she begged.

"We know you were taken, and we know you don’t want this, but..."

Her voice trembled. "Sir doesn’t take his anger out on you. He takes it out on us."

She stole a glance at Lyra, who stayed silent. "Please... at least for my sake," she added.